


Three is a Crowd

by Anonymous



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (sex in chapter 3), Boss/Employee Relationship, Do Not Archive, M/M, Threesome, Trans Male Character, explicit in chapter 3, t4t
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27573097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It feels so normal in theory – Elias inviting Jon to meet a business associate.In theory, at least.(Set in season 3. Chapters 1-2 are T or M, chapter 3 is Explicit. Written bypalmmutations)
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Peter Lukas/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 25
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

_I don’t have to sell my soul_

__________________________________

Sometime in May, Jon is called up to Elias’ office.

He’d rather avoid the man as much as possible but the way work is something always comes up that means their paths just must cross; sometimes it is through Elias walking through the building like any normal manager would – sometimes one would actually see him enter the reception which means contrary to some beliefs Elias doesn’t _live_ there.  
This time it was through Rosie telling him Elias wanted to see him the moment he stepped into the office, and Jon’s stomach had sunk because he envisioned it to be for some nefarious purpose.

Instead it plays out like this: the moment Jon enters Elias’ gothic-styled workspace he is met with a prim smile and Elias saying,  
“I want to take you out to dinner.”

Jon is caught so off guard that he chokes and sputters before managing to get out an awkward, “I beg your pardon?”

“Not to the Ritz or anything,” Elias explains and pulls a dark brown ledger into view. “A simple evening out. I have a business associate that I would like for you to meet.”

Elias is smiling politely, his hand still resting on his ledger. Everything in his body language states that the situation is _normal_ , like they’re normal associates and not like he a matter of weeks ago was almost poisoned by Melanie and promptly then sent her into a mental breakdown. As if he hasn’t been preparing Jon for the Unknowing and knew that Sasha was dead. Who knows, maybe Elias thinks that extensive apocalypse-prevention plans are obviously common in the British workplace. 

“…Sorry– what?” Jon asks dumbly. “When? Why?”

“I was thinking this Friday after work, if it’s not too soon.”

 _‘If it’s not too soon’_ , Jon’s subconscious offers mockingly. The last few years his view of Elias has shifted from ‘somewhat odd boss’ to ‘literal murderer’ so quickly that he’s almost forgotten he used to view Elias Bouchard as an ordinary man. He had attended Institute parties, he had wished Jon happy birthday – Tim’s pride and joy still was a photo on his phone of Elias drunkenly keeled over a pool table with a death grip around a wine glass. First time they’d taken Basira and Daisy out for drinks he had shown it to them both like a parent showing off pictures of their kids kept in their wallet. 

Jon juts his jaw out in defiance. “What’s this _really_ about?” 

Despite Jon’s attempts at looking stubborn or infuriated, Elias remains calm and diplomatic even as he cocks a brow.

“I told you. I’ve someone I’d like you to meet.”

Jon throws his hands out. “And? Is that all?”

Elias finally looks a little annoyed. “Jon, I know what you think of me, but a great deal of my job is still _work_. It is dinner with a friend of the Institute. Simple as that.”

Jon clenches and unclenches his fists, wondering if it’s worth further arguing this. At last he sighs and simply says, “Fine. Sounds great.”

__________________________________

Jon doesn’t go particularly out of his way to keep the dinner date secret, but he doesn’t make a point of telling anyone in the few days leading up to Friday. He imagines how Basira and Melanie would react, or God forbid how _Tim_ would react – he envisions him sneering, _‘dining with the enemy, boss? Suppose it was just a matter of time you joined his side.’_

He goes about work as usual. He holds brief conversations with Basira and Tim and the entire time speaks as if he’s walking on eggshells, because the time they spend together now is so brief and Jon doesn’t want to upset them. The entire time he is aware of how they look at him, with distrust on good days and dislike on bad ones. Once or twice he’s present to hear Basira crack a sarcastic joke and hears Tim and Martin actually laugh quietly. 

It makes Jon feel ever guiliter about the fact he’s some kind of double agent now. He can’t imagine that any of the others would be so stupid to dine with their boss after everything that has happened.

And yet there is something so weirdly mundane about it that it thrills Jon, sends jitters into his stomach and sparks his nerves. He’s excited and terrified what might happen, because he knows so little about Elias and that in itself is dangerous.

Around Friday afternoon he texts the contact in his phone labelled as _Elias Bouchard (boss)_ , which has been unused for years until now. Bizarrely enough Elias texts back within twenty minutes, like he’s one of Jon’s normal old managers from when before he worked at the Institute. 

Jon asks where they’re headed, and he texts back,

_> > The Vindauga._

_> > Small restaurant outside Clapham pleasant view. Chilly. Bring a jacket._

_> > Come to my office after work has ended and I’ll pick you up._

Dutifully Jon does exactly so, bringing one of his finer grey coats to work and a scarf that he’s been told makes him look more refined. The entire time he couldn’t be more aware of how stupid it is, that he is practically putting himself in Elias’ claws and doing so with compliance and a bow on top. He has a choice certainly, but it just feels…

It feels right to do it. Like this is who he is now. 

He thinks about the moronic decisions taken by protagonists in greek tragedies as he arrives right outside Elias’ office. About stupid teenagers in bad horror movies who hear noises in the dark and go to investigate. 

“Right on time,” Elias says brightly when he sees him, dressed particularly immaculate for the evening; Jon has never seen him out of a suit or in anything less dressed than a white shirt and a vest. Elias is now in a dark coat that reaches down to his knees, accentuating his waist and widening his shoulders. His vest appears black at first, but in the dim light of the hallways it shimmers slightly with mint-purple iridescence. 

They leave through the Institute back door, the one that leads out to a smaller road used by delivery trucks and merges with a larger road that connects to traffic. For a brief second Jon thinks that they’re going the wrong way if they intend to take the bus, and the next second he laughs internally at the very notion of Elias using communal traffic.

He turns out to be right: a small cab is expecting them not too far from the main road. It is a beautiful spring night, the concrete is wet with fog and the sky is a tired grey. It is cold enough for Jon and Elias’ breaths to be visible in the air.

It is there, maybe thirty yards from the black car, that Jon suddenly feels a set of eyes rest on the back of his neck.

He looks to Elias, who for the last two minutes has been talking about a historical documentary about how art was kept safe and exported to various parts of Europe during World War Two, in some cases being prioritized over human life. Jon is too deeply entrenched in his own thoughts to pay attention, but that apparently doesn’t matter as Elias is perfectly fine with monologuing about modern art.

 _Someone is behind us_ , Jon suddenly realizes.

The moment the thought strikes he can hear it as well – a third set of footsteps against the wet black concrete. It’s coming from behind him and Elias, and whoever or _whatever_ it is they’re getting closer. 

Jon spins around and sees a man behind them, too wide to be Tim or Melanie but just too tall to be Martin. His silhouette is almost half-transparent as he seems to emerge from the little fog offered by a cold May evening, and he stops dead in his tracks when he notices Jon seeing him.

“Elias!” Jon exclaims as his legs and arms begin to prickle with the urge to run, grabbing Elias’ shoulder. Elias spins around without hesitation, for a moment seeming just as ready to run before he sighs at the sight of the man in front of them. He regains his composure and curses under his breath, so quietly Jon wouldn’t hear it if he wasn’t so close.

“I thought we agreed to meet _there_ ,” Elias states loudly and with obvious disdain. The man is opaque enough now that Jon can make out his features as he comes closer. He is older with an almost entirely grey beard, wearing a heavy coat above an Aran sweater. 

His eyes are pale, and he looks just as shocked and cautious as Jon feels.

“Elias,” the man says, not taking his eyes off Jon for a second, and Jon doesn’t break his gaze either. “Decided to show how seriously I’m taking this and everything, show up on time rather than wait for you there.”

“Yes, Peter, incredibly polite of you to appear out of thin air behind the building,” Elias says dryly, putting his hand on Jon’s upper arm in small comfort. Jon wishes dearly he could say that he didn’t trust Elias, but he allows himself to relax ever so slightly. It makes his heart race funny at the fact Elias is protecting him. 

The Eye has minimal influence as Jon puts together the man’s Northern accent and his given name, eyes going wide as he remembers Elias referring to some ‘associate.’

“You’re Peter Lukas,” Jon blurts out.

“Oh, Elias, this one’s clever,” Peter says in return, and his cold eyes crinkle as he smiles. He’s almost a full head taller than both Jon and Elias, and he looks Jon over one last time before he steps past them and towards the car.

“I told you he showed promise,” Elias responds dryly. Peter opens the cab door for him with a dramatic flair and receives a completely unamused glare before Elias steps in.

“From the Lukas family,” Jon mumbles dumbfounded, getting into the car as well. He ends up sitting next to Elias with Peter sitting opposite them, and the way Elias leans a little in front of him could be mistaken for him being protective.

“Definitely see why you picked this one out to be your new Archivist,” Peter says and stretches out a hand. “I’d introduce myself but you’ve stolen the opportunity from me – but _yes_ , Peter Lukas.”

His hand is large and lukewarm. “Jonathan Sims,” Jon responds softly.

“I take it he’s already claimed you for the Beholding?” Peter asks with a slight frown, and Jon barely has the time to gape and stumble for something to say before Elias practically dives in.

“That’s the _point_ of an Archivist, Peter. Don’t get jealous now.”

“I’m not jealous! Simply admiring your work ethic. Am I not allowed to do that anymore?”

Elias laughs, once, with real amusement. “Admiration? After your history with Gertrude?”

Lukas’ expression pales into a very real scowl as Elias smiles in a way that Jon has never seen before, non-smug, but he ignores it in favor of Peter.

“You knew Gertrude Robinson?”

“ _Of_ her, I never had the displeasure of meeting her directly. You’re turning out to be nicer company thus far.”

Elias’ smile is replaced by seriousness and he warns, “Let’s hope we can say the same of you.” Again Jon feels something flutter through his chest at the fact Elias is protecting him. 

It is a small but expensive cab with a blacked out partition so that only the silhouette of the driver is visible. The man is completely uninvolved as Peter and Elias already begin to delve into a conversation that teeters somewhere between passive aggressive and bickering. It’s entertaining to hear Elias sound so uncharacteristically alive and invested, if it mostly serves to argue with Lukas.

Jon lets himself fall silent during. He brims with the urge to ask Peter anything – he can practically _feel_ the information that waits inside the man’s broad chest – but he clenches his fists into the leather seats and keeps quiet. 

He wonders if Elias being protective of him is him being defensive or possessive. The title _Archivist_ makes Jon appear as some sort of precious decoration which was likely to get stolen. Admittedly, Jon thinks joylessly, there were almost certainly creatures and monstrous agencies other than Nikola who would love to sink their teeth, claws or other dangerous appendages into him.

Maybe it is why Peter Lukas is here. The thought doesn’t scare him as much as it should.

Elias has just finished a dry comment regarding the weather when Peter turns to Jon and asks him with surprising joviality,

“Has he told you where we’re headed?”

Jon is caught off guard at so suddenly being addressed, pausing. “Yes, actually.”

Lukas grins emptily, “Oh, that’s a surprise. Elias has a history of treating his archival staff somewhat poorly.”

Jon grits his teeth. “I’m familiar.”  
The smile Peter gives him in return seems genuinely entertained.

__________________________________


	2. Chapter 2

_He’s already in me_

__________________________________

The Vindauga is a small restaurant by Clapham Common, just as Elias said. It is far from empty when they enter, but the crowd are solemn and silent as though attending a funeral reception. It is stuffy and smells of smoke and grease, not at all the kind of establishment Jon would’ve expected Elias to visit out of free will.

All those years when Jon first met him, his first impressions of Elias had been _rich and prissy_ , and unprepared for the questions he was asked. It hadn’t been about his qualifications or his weaknesses, but instead on how much he believes in the esoteric and the paranormal. He had asked, _‘how will you be receiving statement-givers?’_ , and Jon had been almost entranced. 

Every word that had fallen out of him had been true, at times bluntly and rudely so, and years later Jon would realize he was being compelled.

Jon had always been naturally curious, and every shred of information he could get on Elias was a precious balm soothing the itch beneath his very skin that had been there since the day he became employed. After Sasha had passed and Leitner had died, Jon had realized he knew almost _nothing_ about Elias whilst Elias claimed to know everything there was about him. It nagged him something awful. 

They take a table by the window, with Jon the furthest into the corner and with Peter Lukas sat next to him. He can feel a steady chill creep in around them – a sensation he remembers having felt during the statement of Naomi Herne. The only reason Jon hasn’t already bombarded Peter with questions about it is sheer manners. 

There is _so_ much that Jon wants to ask him, not just as the Archivist but as someone who has heard so much about the mythical Lukas family (the Lonely, the _Tundra_ , the investments, Salesa). Between his nerves and the smoke hanging in the air of the restaurant, Jon is beginning to itch for a cigarette.

“I wouldn’t try the wine, Elias,” Peter says as he looks over the menu. “They changed vendors a while back and everything but the whiskey has been dreadful since.”

“We’re not here to get drunk, Peter,” Elias says and looks up to meet the mellow waiter at their table. “Two glasses of red and a lager, please.”

The waiter barely emotes as she takes their orders and leaves. Looking over at the rest of the establishment Jon feels as though he’s a fish in an aquarium, even though no one but the waiters seem to have even noticed them. It is like there’s a barrier between them, something solidly separating him from the other people, from the customers living their normal lives free of eldritch misery.

“Why am I here?” Jon asks, at once sick of being kept in the dark. Elias gives him a placating look, but Peter smiles as though he’s been expecting this all along.

“Hasn’t he told you?” Peter says. “He’s making me head of the Institute.”

“ _What_? Why?” Jon looks to Elias and expects him to deny it, but Elias is looking away almost shamefully. Jon stumbles to find something to say, because one of the few things he knows of Elias is that the man holds onto the Institute like he needs it to survive, and for all the nothing Jon knows about him that could even be the case.

Peter gestures impatiently. “No, not like that. I’ve been given the template – go on, ask your questions.”

And oh, that practically flips a switch in Jon’s head; all the questions he’s had for hours, days, weeks come up to the surface as he feels the eye come alive.

“ _Why do you want the Institute?_ ” he asks, and the cold air in the restaurant shimmers as the Eye takes its hold of Peter Lukas.

“Honestly? I don’t really care for your house of horrors,” Peter begins, his eyes distant. “From the small amount I’ve seen, it is a mess of ghost-stories and the clutter is depressive. Little clickers everywhere, jumbled planning and unfulfilled potential all over the place, quite frankly inefficient–“

“Have some class,” Elias warns.

“–but damn valuable. Now, nothing is set in stone when I’ll be taking over. Elias came pleading to me because he needed someone to be in charge of it in case of something he calls _unforeseen developments_. I was a little reluctant of course – office admin isn’t my style and I’ve had unpleasant experiences with the Archive’s ilk.”

Peter clamps his hand over his mouth and stops himself. Jon stifles the satisfaction he feels at Peter’s sudden alarm – he’s frowning with his eyes wide, looking at Jon with something that could be fear but also could be respect. Jon tries not to relish in it.

“Elias wasn’t exaggerating then,” Peter murmurs softly.

A waiter whose appearance Jon doesn’t pay attention to brings them their order, and Jon then notices that there’s only two plates. He pushes his dubious looking peas aside and instead focuses on his salad, and in the corner of his eye he can see that Elias and Peter are taking turns _sharing_ their plate. Both meals look pretty unappetizing, and if the way Elias ever so slightly grimaces around his fork is any indicator, their food is as plain as Jon’s.

Jon tries his glass of wine, and then promptly has to stop himself from choking and coughing at the taste; it tastes _murky_. Peter cocks an eyebrow as if to say _‘told you so_ ,’ and Jon makes a point to take another sip before putting it down.

“You said you didn’t know Gertrude?” Jon questions, not fully letting the compulsion into his voice. Peter still scratches at his bearded jaw, and Jon recalls Elias describing the feeling as _tingly_. 

“I never met her directly – never had to, either. Our gods work in similar ways like that, Archivist; no direct contact needed, in fact sometimes the distance aids it. Everyone who knew or knew _of_ Robinson was afraid of her, and it’d be stupid to not be. Never met anyone who so truly was more dangerous with the pen than the sword.”

Peter lifts his pale lager and takes a good mouthful, wiping off the foam that gathers on his beard. He gives Jon a look, “Go on, keep asking. I told Elias that I’d play nice for the evening and let his Archivist try me out.”

Elias groans softly and drinks from his own glass.

“I– I can’t,” Jon stutters. “I can’t take a statement. Not here, not without a recorder.”

“No no, not a _statement_ – you’re off work, aren’t you?” Peter is smiling, but there is still something cautious in his eyes. He’s so different from anyone Jon has met before in this line of work, and he has so many _answers_.

“I’ve been described as a workaholic,” Jon mutters under his breath. 

“Mm. All you Beholding types are like that. Only reason I managed to drag this one,” Peter shrugs in Elias’ direction, “to a restaurant of this low repute is because it holds sentimental value to him.”

That lights an idea in Jon.

“How do you know Elias?” 

“Hm, that’s more like it,” Peter murmurs.

It isn’t a statement – it feels different, less satisfying but deeper somehow, like reading but not taking in any information. Peter speaks for a good interrupted couple of minutes; he met Elias right as he became the head of the Institute at the ripe age of 27, a new set of ambassadors from a long line of Lukas investors and the Archive. Elias watches over the conversation cautiously, like a cat sleeping with one eye open. 

Jon is dumbfounded over how _mundane_ it is: Peter has known Elias for twenty years, but their work together is very limited as Peter ‘couldn’t care less for the money.’ He says something about working on his own projects, apartments or something of that kind, but that he mostly spends his time on the _Tundra_ and is leaving London by Monday.

It’s just normal. Nothing extraordinary, no statement, nothing even particularly new – just confirmations of things Jon already knew. 

Their plates are almost empty and all that’s left are the glasses.

“…so that’s it,” Jon says. “That’s all there is.”

Peter blinks at him.

“Were you expecting something else?” 

“I… yes. Yes I was. You’re _Peter Lukas_ and all you have to tell me is that you work with my boss, you own a boat, and you’re taking over the Institute?” Jon scoffs, throws a hand out. “Is that all that there is to it?”

“Oh, my condolences,” Peter says with no remorse at all. “Am I _boring_ you, Archivist?” 

“Yes you are!” Jon laughs and picks up the glass. “Elias brought me out to dinner to meet a business associate, and I–I thought that there’d be something to it. Something _new_ , not just this- this waste of– I don’t know.”

The wine still tastes dark and terrible, and he has to pause after every swallow, but it is also free. He manages three mouthfuls and then has to stop with a grimace, internally bemoaning the fact he’s not getting drunk.

“Are you going to tell him before he goes into a stupor?” Peter asks, facing Elias.

Elias clicks his tongue. “Don’t do that,” he mutters. “This was meant to go smoothly, through no fault of your own.”

“Oh-ho, you’re blaming this all on me then?”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Jon snaps. His throat burns from cheap wine.

Peter taps him on the shoulder, barely stifling an inappropriately wide grin. Jon leans in and hears him whisper low and rich, “Elias’ reluctance to be blunt is one of his failing qualities, but I’ll be blue; this is his attempt at seduction, Archivist.”

Every hair on Jon’s body prickles. Elias looks annoyed and, shockingly enough, embarrassed. Jon then instantly knows that Peter isn’t making an off-color joke.

“ _Really?”_ Jon says, more dumbfounded than anything as the idea settles in his mind. 

Peter nods sagely. “Mmhmm. He’s trying to fuck you, Sims.”

The crudeness suddenly solidifies it.

Jon is speechless for a second. He scoffs as boldly as he can, “I didn’t know the sleazy CEO seducing his staff was his- _your_ style – I thought it was more along the lines of magic mind-buggery.”

Elias sternly does not look at him, jaw set and staring into the restaurant. Abashed, Elias Bouchard looks _abashed_ , caught off guard and downright ashamed.

The concept of having caught Elias off guard is far more intoxicating than any cheap wine. Jon thinks that he might treasure this for the rest of his life, however long that is. Elias is trying to seduce him, and Jon can’t even bring himself to focus on that yet. 

“He was going to tell you eventually, but in a bit more purple prose,” Peter continues sounding incredibly entertained. “You see, Elias often neglects to mention key details–,”

“Pot calling kettle, Peter,” Elias bites without looking at him.

“–so I’ll step in his stead. Elias invited me to a dinner with his Archivist, which with the purpose was to at some point during the night ask his Archivist if he wanted to come back to his house–”

“How unprofessional!” Jon mock-whispers, and Peter nods.

“–and depending on his Archivist’s answer, he would take him home to be good and well fucked out by Elias and his husband.”

Jon twitches. “Husband?”

Peter shows him his large hand and wiggles his fingers. One of them is wearing a pale golden ring.

Jon’s gut turns with such surprise he almost falls over in his seat. He thinks his jaw might drop, staring dumbfounded at the gold band on Peter’s ringfinger.

Another _key detail_ Elias has neglected to mention, that Jon isn’t just meeting a business associate – he is meeting his boss’ fucking _husband_.

It makes several things suddenly fall into place. What Jon has during the night considered arguing is suddenly redefined as bickering, maybe even flirting. He alters the impression of Elias he has in his head – did he ever think Elias was straight? – into someone who would be with a man like Peter, into someone who would be with a man at all.

It almost makes sense: Peter isn’t visually disagreeable, good and well a head taller than both Jon and Elias and with a chest like a barrel. Far less kempt than Elias, but with a kind of appealing roughness Jon isn’t entirely unfamiliar with. 

A complementary instead of an opposite, as it were. It makes an awful lot of sense, actually.

Jon then realizes that he is leg-to-leg with Elias’ husband, who claimed Elias wants to fuck him, and that said husband is eyeing him with a steel-colored interest.

The only thing Jon is able to get out is a blasé, “Oh.”

Jon knows the word for this – _propositioned._ Inappropriately asked out by his boss and his boss’ husband ( _husband!_ ) to join them at their apartment for sex. 

Workplace harassment. Just like the rest of the evening, it feels so laughably banal.

All the things that Jon has endured in his career at the Institute, supernatural horrors and physical near-fatal violence. Jon finds himself disturbed by how completely unafraid he is, shocked at the fact his boss is making sexual advances but not in the slightest bit scared.

Jon also wonders what it implies about him that he is considering it. What it implies from the suggestion stoking something warm in his chest, a sort of enjoyable dread and surprise. What it implies that it would be _far_ from the most insane thing Elias has asked of him.

There are a couple of things to take in mind. The first is the _draw_ that Jon has felt lately to Elias Bouchard and to the Institute, a primal conviction that the Institute was safe and Elias could help him. His fear of Elias is always there but it’s dormant, because he knows he is too important for Elias to hurt him. 

The second is that Elias by no means is unattractive, something that Jon had known long before Sasha during lunch once had said, ‘Do you think he has all the confidence he has because he’s rich and hot?’, causing Tim to choke-laugh on his ground beef until he had been crying. The conversation had been followed by in depth discussion on if Elias was a Tory, with the conclusion being ‘ _no, just a prick._ ’ 

Elias is handsome, and Jon is very aware of that.

All of a sudden Jon finds himself grateful for the wine, simply because he can blame his racing heart and rising body temperature on the small amount of alcohol he’s consumed.

“What if I say no?” he asks, just because he can. “Do we simply go back to normal then? I file a complaint with HR – Christ, if we even _have_ HR – deciding that murder is fine but I draw the line here? Oh,” Jon laughs, “that’d be a _riot_ , I never brought up that I was on the run for months and I was dragged back with-with a gun at my back and just having buried a body–”

“ _Jon_ ,” Elias interrupts.

Jon stops, finding himself to be breathing heavily and almost shouting in the restaurant. An awkward look around shows that none of the other customers have heard him confess to criminal activity, separated by fog. Elias has reached across the table to put a soft hand on his, his slender fingers on Jon’s clenched fist.

For reasons he chooses not to examine, Jon’s breath hitches.

“ _Jon_ ,” Elias says again, and Jon thinks he doesn’t like hearing Elias utter his name so softly. It’s so much more intimate than being the Archivist. 

“There is a cab outside waiting to take me and Peter back home to my apartment,” Elias tells him matter of factly. “You will have the option of hailing a cab for yourself, an expense which I will pay. All of this will be forgotten to the best extent. You won’t be pressured into doing anything.” 

“Or?” Jon says, because he knows there is an _or_.

“ _Or_ ,” Elias says, “you can join me and Peter, and unless you make it clear otherwise I will be led to believe you care to join us. It is up to you.”

Elias’ face is serious, not smug for once. He’s quite beautiful, something that Jon hasn’t thought about subjectively until tonight. There are a few lines going across his forehead and eyes that tell of his age, black lashes and what looks like a few scars so fine and small leaping across his lids that Jon hadn’t noticed them until now.

Jon feels so very, very seen. Understood and belonging, a piece of the Archive and a piece of the Eye. Fear has been a part of him ever since he joined the Institute, but for the first time in so long he doesn’t feel afraid. He doesn’t know what he feels.

Jon isn’t sure which one of them kisses first. It doesn’t really matter; it’s a chaste thing happening just over the table, and Jon is struck by how _soft_ and cool Elias’ lips are against his own. He hears Elias hum in the back of his throat, exhaling through his nose and the air dancing across Jon’s cheek.

It lasts for just a second, and then they’re separate again but still so close he smells the wine on Elias’ breath.

Jon’s heart is pounding so hard that it’s a miracle his hands are still.

“I suppose that’s my answer,” Jon mumbles deep in his throat. “It's not like I have anything else to do.” 

In the dim light of the restaurant, Elias’ eyes glisten with triumph and anticipation.

__________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: 
>   * Jon consents to sex after having consumed a small amount of wine. He is not in any way meant to be read as debilitated or drunk, at most a little buzzed.
>   * Elias' becoming very dramatic when caught off guard is canon as proven by 'extended sounds of brutal pipe murder'
>   * The pub's name, _Vindauga,_ is an old Norse meaning "wind eye", which also is where the word "window" comes from. 
>   * Though it didn't play as big a part as it was it did in the draft, the pub definitely has sentimental value to Peter and Elias.
>   * Final(…?) chapter is coming on the 29th, next Sunday. Hope to see you there :>
> 



	3. Chapter 3

_I want to be adored_

__________________________________

Elias’ home is two storeys tall, and it looks to be a very old building that has been repurposed time and time again. Inside it smells like him, that unique smell of nothing and sweet dust, the interior all smooth lines and dark wooden cabinets.

Jon gets very little time to properly examine it because the minute he has taken his jacket off, Elias’ mouth and hands are on him. 

He kisses with barely contained hunger, holding Jon by the back of the neck and his waist as he pries Jon’s mouth into opening with lip and tongue. 

Jon desperately tries to keep up and keep track of where Elias is touching him, but it’s already overwhelming before Jon feels a warm bulk press against his back. It’s Peter, and two large hands are placed on Jon’s body alongside the two that already were there. He feels Peter’s beard bristle against the corner of his jaw as he kisses the vein of Jon’s neck, two mouths and four hands trapping Jon in place.

Completely involuntarily, Jon moans. He feels suffocated in their presence, trapped between warmth and airs of expensive cologne, nowhere to go and nothing to do but hold on.

“His heart is racing,” Peter comments right below his ear. Jon can feel his voice thrum through Peter’s chest, which is pressed alongside Jon’s back. “Are you nervous, Archivist?”

“Oh _god_ ,” Jon swallows thickly. “I– it’s been a while– I don’t do this a lot.”

Elias’ mouth is placed beneath Jon’s chin. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” Jon gasps too fast. “No, not at all.”

Peter tilts his head. “Then what are we still doing in the foyer, Elias?”

Elias gives Peter a freezing cold look before leading them away. 

The bed is king-sized and already missing blankets, as if expecting this. There is a chair pressed against the wall a meter or two away from the bed. 

Jon doesn’t have the time to wonder why there is a chair there before he is sat on the bed and showered with enough attention for his mind to go elsewhere.

Elias is the one who leads the affections, kissing Jon on the mouth and on the neck while Peter seems satisfied with just using his hands and following Elias’ lead. Jon acquiesces trying to respond to their touches with mutual effort and instead just lets it happen, lets his eyes roll back as he basks in their attention. 

A hand lands on Jon’s chest and his eyes widen; he realizes that he’s going to be undressed, and that he never _disclosed_. 

For the first time since they left the Institute this evening, Jon feels panicked.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he says and sits up as straight as possible with Peter’s weight against him. He never came out to Elias, never saw the need seeing as he was his boss and they weren’t precisely friends – only to now be in his apartment, felt up by him _and_ _his husband_. 

“I know,” Elias says instead, swooping down to kiss him just off-center of his mouth, and taking Jon’s hand to put on his own chest. 

Before Jon can continue or protest, he feels the softness beneath Elias’ shirt, a light swell of tissue. Elias kisses his cheek and moves down to the corner of his jaw, all the while he grabs at Jon’s breasts, and all of a sudden Jon Knows.

“Really?” he says.

“Mmhmm,” Elias hums beneath his ear. He continues without an ounce of shame, “I did mean to tell you we had this in common, but I simply never found the moment to bring it up.”

“What else aren’t you telling me?” Jon hisses. “You take me to meet someone who’s actually your husband a-a _aah_ ,” Peter takes the moment to _squeeze_ his inner thigh and Jon has to physically shake himself back into composure, “and you’re trans, and now I’m in your apartment – anything else?”

Elias stands up from the bed and leaves Jon’s side woefully empty. 

“I have to fetch something,” he explains. “Be back in a second. Peter, keep him company.”

“What else am I doing?” Peter calls after him. He sits up more comfortably on the bed and begins to undress, pulling his shirt over his head and revealing a hairy tattooed torso. Jon watches with unhidden interest. He’s never considered himself having a type – Jon has dated a variety of people, men, women and others, often without a particular pattern. Peter is big, with thick arms that easily could hoist Jon’s weight like he weighs nothing. Jon can’t help but finding Elias dating a bear of a man unexpectedly entertaining.

“I wanted to ask– mm,” Jon begins when Peter turns back around, promptly cut short by Peter’s mouth on his.

Peter kisses very differently from Elias. The texture of his beard is bristling but not painful, smelling faintly of oil and perfume. His kisses are firmer, less patient, with just a little bit of teeth.

His hands are heavy as they land on Jon’s shoulders and gently push him back onto the bed, feeling him up from his arms to his thighs with a deep touch that makes Jon shudder and melt under his hands. Jon wonders off-handedly if the Lonely is letting Peter know exactly how to touch him, and if that’s why Peter is doing such a good job at it.

Jon is laid on his back with Peter knelt on all fours as he looks him up and down with a glimmer in his eye. 

“Scrawny, aren’t you?” Peter says as he helps Jon kick off his trousers. “Might have to look into getting you some kind of bodyguard when I’m in charge. Would hate for you to get knocked over by a gust of wind.”

Jon winces. “I’ve managed pretty decently on my own, you’ll find,” he says venomously. “Sorry to not be up to your standards.”

Peter frowns. “Why wouldn’t you be? You’re gorgeous.”

Jon winces again, but this time because he’s flustered and has to look away. “That’s not what I meant,” he tries to explain, but then Peter is kissing him deeply again.

“Don’t know what you meant then. Would’ve dressed nicer if Elias had told me you were a looker,” he murmurs into Jon’s ear, beard rubbing against the sensitive skin of his neck. 

“God, shut up,” Jon mutters quietly, heat crawling up his face. Peter’s hands land on the bottom of his shirt and he pulls it up over Jon’s head. He moves with a sort of fast practice, it makes Jon’s head spin and he has to hurry to keep up the pace. 

In the decades since he came out, Jon has grown quite comfortable with his chest. He has no idea what his cup size is or _was_ , but it’s small, and after years on testosterone his breasts are covered in films of hair. Were he more muscular they could pass for particularly defined pecs.

Most days Jon doesn’t wear a binder or any kind of compression because it doesn’t serve a purpose anymore. At least so he thought, before Peter pulls his shirt off and leaves him now completely naked, having to stifle the reflex of crossing his arms to hide his chest.

“These are cute,” Peter comments in regards to his tits. “You mind?”

Jon nods and then shakes his head, uncertain which response will get Peter back to touching him as quickly as possible. Peter grins as he dives back in.

His hands are rough as they brush over the sensitive skin of one breast, kissing the other and pressing his tongue to Jon’s nipple. Jon’s eyes physically roll back into his head and he shudders under the onslaught of sensation. He’s not _used_ to this, not used to large rough hands and undivided attention directed to his body.

Peter must pick up on his nerves, because he stops and gives him an inscrutable look.

“What? Why’d you stop?” Jon’s voice comes out rougher than he intended it to.

Peter rubs at his side, “You’re extremely tense, did you know that?”

“I’ve had a stressful couple of weeks,” Jon grumbles.

“I’ll try to help you destress then,” Peter says and kisses him again. “All you have to do is lie there and look pretty.”

Jon averts his gaze at the compliment, staring at a spot in Elias’ ceiling instead. He inhales deeply and lets the breath go through his body in an old relaxation technique Georgie taught him, and then he nods.

Letting go is difficult, but Jon tries his best, sighing in content as Peter kisses and touches him all over with a still clothed knee between his legs. 

Peter Lukas is very _large_. Jon is a little below average height and thin, and Elias is of similar build, but Peter is tall, fat and strong. When he is positioned above Jon he almost covers him skin to skin, so much touch all over when Jon thinks the last hug he got was when he came back from America. 

He grinds up against Peter’s leg without a second thought, so turned on that his body is moving almost subconsciously in frenzied attempts to get _more_. He grabs onto Peter in what Jon hopes is a silent signal that conveys ‘ _hurry up,_ ’ because he refuses to out loud say _‘fuck me.’_

“Glad to see you’re already getting well acquainted,” Elias suddenly says from the doorframe, interrupting them. He’s the most undressed Jon has ever seen him, in nothing but underwear and a white shirt holding a black bag and what unmistakably is a harness.

Vertigo and excitement surges through Jon. The realization that he really is going to do this is daunting but he doesn’t care. He’s been in threesomes before, though he can’t remember having so clearly been the center of focus. 

“Almost forgot you were here, Elias,” Peter says.

“Mm. You wish.”

Jon expects Elias to join them on the bed, but instead he sits down on the chair opposite the bed. He is exquisitely close, with his blouse undone so that his small chest is visible. It is so intimate to see him this undressed, for once not head to toe in office wear. Jon peers at the dark bag that he’s holding, able to guess its contents but much rather seeing for himself.

“Don’t worry, pet, he’ll join us later,” Peter offers as comfort. “He likes a good show.”

“Do I?” Elias asks, putting a hand to his chest. “I wouldn’t know. Nothing is happening so far.”

Peter huffs as he takes his belt off, shimmying out of his jeans. “You of all people tend to appreciate the theatrics of good foreplay.”

“True. I appreciate the theatrics of a good fuck too.” Elias nods towards Jon. “I imagine he feels the same currently.”

Jon’s face is so warm it’s beginning to hurt. He never knows what to make of his libido, especially when he is as stressed as he’s been lately, but he is _so_ aroused he doesn’t know he’d be able to walk home if this ended now.

“Alright then,” Peter says and turns to face Jon, “I’m going to eat you out now.” Jon doesn’t argue.

Peter pulls his pants down and leaves him exposed and wet to the room, smoothing his rough hands down Jon’s legs as he places his mouth between his legs. 

It’s been a while since Jon last had someone give him head. He doesn’t begrudge the dry streak, but he had forgotten how flustering the sensation is - someone between his legs with their only focus being on getting him off. 

Peter is _good_ at it, too. The texture of his beard is foreign on Jon’s cunt and thighs, not as harsh as he expected. He teases a little, nose against Jon’s clit as he kisses his folds and warms him up like that, building a tense anticipation until he finally puts his mouth on Jon’s cock.

Jon sinks his teeth into his bottom lip to quiet himself, stifling soft moans into hums in the back of his throat. He looks down right as Peter looks up, and Peter’s steel-colored eyes crinkle with self-satisfaction. The very next second he sucks, hard, and Jon arches his back with an _oh_. 

He dares to look to the side and sees that Elias is watching them with a harrowing intensity, mouth half open and all eyes. It makes something in Jon’s chest turn, like an anchor dropping through his very being, the knowledge that Elias is getting off on watching this feeling like piano wire. 

Jon has to look away, focuses instead on the ceiling and on Peter’s hair when he isn’t screwing his eyes shut. 

A finger prods at his wet hole and he feels Peter make an inquisitive noise. Jon spreads his legs slightly in what he hopes to be an obvious invitation. 

He is quickly proven correct when a thick finger enters him, and Jon groans out “God!”, happy to have something to clench down on as Peter keeps going down on him. 

Another finger pushes in, crooks upwards. Jon reflexively wraps his legs tight around Peter’s head and tries not to squeeze as the man sucks and thrusts. Climax builds in Jon’s abdomen like a knot of burning wire uncoiling, makes him spasm and smile with pleasure. 

Peter’s fingers are thick and strong, and they curl up into a spot that makes Jon’s vision go white with noise. He spreads them wide and fucks them deep inside, and Jon’s entire body seizes up as he curls in on himself.

Jon digs his hands into Peter’s silvering hair, terrified that he’ll move away and stop and Jon won’t feel his mouth on him anymore. He hears and feels Peter laugh at his desperation but he doesn’t care, doesn’t care as long as this just keeps going. 

The entire time Jon can _feel_ himself being watched, like silk and piano-wire wrapping tight around his naked body until he feels like he’s being suffocated. 

He at last comes with three distinct cries as Peter’s mouth wrings him out, the hot feeling rolling through his body from head to toe. His thighs are so tight around Peter’s shoulders that he doesn’t know if the man could break free, but Peter makes no attempt to do so, fucks Jon slower and slower with his fingers until it ebbs out of him.

Jon writhes slightly as he slowly regains his composure, heavy breaths and tremors as Peter sits up to look at him appreciatively. His hand is still on Jon’s crotch, occasionally brushing his fingers against Jon’s oversensitive folds.

“You better hurry up and fuck this one before I do it myself,” Peter says, smearing Jon’s wetness. Jon moans at the thought, eager to come again.

Elias cocks a brow from across the room. “I’ve already told you, Peter,” he says coldly. “No.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Jon splutters weakly. He still wants more — he can’t remember last time he felt this greedy to be filled up again.

Peter grabs him and pulls him bonelessly into his lap. He is still wearing that thick Aran sweater, warm and encompassing as he pulls Jon against his chest and nibbles at his ear.

“Elias wants you all to himself, you see,” Peter explains. “Told me that I don’t get to fuck you before he does, some nonsense about intimacy. Don’t know why he invited me here then – I think he’s worried I’ll put a Lukas brat in you.”

“Jesus _Christ_ , that’s crass,” Jon mumbles under his breath. Briefly he considers enlightening the two men to the modern wonder that is condoms, but he’s a little busy at the moment. He’s held with his back against Peter’s broad chest, sat in his lap and able to feel Peter’s erection through his underwear. Peter keeps putting kisses up and down his neck, some of them lingering and intense so that Jon forgets how to do anything but breathe.

Jon feels content, doing nothing but being touched and watched – he thinks he maybe is being a little lazy in comparison, but simply too at peace to care. 

He looks to Elias. Elias has at last stripped so that his lower half is completely naked now save for the harness. Sometime when Jon wasn’t looking, Elias has mounted a dark-blue cock onto the leather harness and is languidly stroking it up and down with lube, pressing the back of it against his own groin implying it to be double edged. 

It makes for a _sight_ , Elias looking so enrapt with his white shirt is unbuttoned, putting his handsome chest on display, and his hair is tousled in a way that looks actually unprofessional. 

Jon yips as Peter suddenly grabs onto his thighs from behind and splays them wide so that his wet cunt and bare legs are on wide display. 

“Well?” Peter says, showcasing him to Elias. “Satisfied already, Bouchard?” 

Elias looks _hungry._ There’s a steady redness on his face and he looks uncharacteristically disheveled, imperfect and wanton. Jon feels something hot roll through him at the knowledge it is because of _him_. 

Again Jon feels overwhelmed, smothered with attention; Peter’s erection against his arse, his hands on Jon’s thighs; Elias’ cold and voracious gaze drinking up every inch of his bare skin.

“Anytime, dear,” Peter says as Elias stands up and adjusts the harness, impatiently pinches Jon’s clit and swirls two fingers through his vulva. 

“One would almost think you want to be here,” Elias says, but there’s no real disdain behind it. He settles onto the bed, lines himself up with Jon’s hole and breathes ragged. Peter stops him by holding his hand up in front of Elias' face, his fingers slick with Jon’s wetness. Elias closes his eyes and sucks on them tenderly, and Jon lets out something that’s not even close to words. 

When Elias enters him, all breath goes out of Jon’s body. Elias’s mouth is open as he sheaths himself in small thrusts, easily burying to the hilt causing them both to moan. Jon feels Elias’s hips against his and for a moment they stay there, Jon winding his legs tight around his waist and trembling as he adapts to the new weight inside him. 

It is almost serene in a way Jon didn’t know sex could be. Every mistake and move he’s made in his life has brought him here, to the right place, where he belongs — in front of the Eye. 

The pace Elias sets is languid, a little unsteady, but pleasurable. He steadies himself on the bed to move in and out, one hand on the mattress and the other on Jon’s arm. He tastes fresh, like clean water and wine and nothing, and Jon hungrily nips at Elias’s lip. 

“Elias,” Jon hisses, grabbing hard onto Elias’ shoulder, “faster, please–”

“Mm,” Elias hums, kisses him deep, “greedy, are we?”

Jon responds by pulling Elias in sharply using his legs, and Elias’ eyes go wide as he lets out a small _‘ah’_ at the sudden pressure against his own groin. 

He fucks in and out of him, deep, and Jon isn’t able to hold back an unsteady cry, pushing his hips up to get some friction against his cock. He feels Peter’s erection against his lower back, hard as a rock and squeezing Jon’s thighs. 

There is so much _touching_ him – Peter is slotted against the entirety of Jon’s back, holding his legs and nosing against his neck, chuckling at how he squirms, while Elias is on top of and inside him. 

“Jon,” Elias says, nothing more, just his name. His hair is mussed with sweat.

“Yes,” Jon gasps in response. He shoots a hand up to grab Elias by the hair, pulling him in closer and kissing him hungrily. 

“You’re doing _so_ well,” Elias tries to praise, and Jon protests by biting him and receives a little chuckle in half-pain half-amusement.

“You talk so much,” Jon grunts out, pushing his hip further up so that Elias’ mound rubs against his cock with every thrust. “Can’t stand you– _oh_ , right there–”

Elias grabs onto the bed for leverage, thrusting himself deeper to hit the spot that makes Jon see stars. He keeps their faces together, not quite kissing but simply sharing every breath, and Jon’s orgasm uncoils itself like a golden-hot knot as he groans out “yes, yes, _yes–_ ”

Jon comes _Seeing_. The Eye beholds itself, a feedback loop set to the infinite void and the knowledge of being _watched_. Jon arches his back and his head spins as he comes clenched vice-tight around Elias’s cock. 

Elias sees it too, Jon knows he does. He knows Elias sees it as well, his mouth buried in the crook of Jon’s neck and hands clenched tight as he comes as well. Elias rolls his hips in tiny circles, grinding against Jon’s clit until it hurts with overstimulation and Jon cries out.

All he can focus on is how beautiful Elias sounds as he catches his breath, gasping into Jon’s ear and steadying himself. 

“That was fast,” Peter mumbles from somewhere above them.

Elias grunts. “Shut up.”

He is surprisingly heavy on top of Jon, a lithe man but a compact weight. He pulls himself out gently, and Jon grimaces involuntarily at the feeling against his tender flesh. 

“Well!” Peter says and shifts beneath Jon. “As much of a philanthropist I consider myself, Elias, I’ve been hard as a rock for the last forty or so minutes. I believe you promised me to help with that.”

Above him, Jon can actually feel Elias’ body go taut with irritation. 

“Can’t wait even a moment, can we?” he mutters darkly as he unclasps the harness. Jon remembers how to move and gingerly sits up while trying to avoid Peter’s very prominent erection. 

“I’m a stickler for rules is all,” Peter says. He looks to consider for a moment, and then he adds, “Unless you’re up for another round, Archivist.”

“Peter,” Elias says coldly.

“I– ah,” Jon mumbles, distracted by Peter palming himself through his underwear. He had forgotten what a nuisance arousal is, how when he gets into the mood he can jack off alone for hours until finally getting peace of mind.

Jon thinks, _this evening is already getting on_ , and he says, “Yes, yes I am.”

“Wonderful,” Peter croons, and then practically pounces on top of him.

Jon doesn’t quite remember everything that happens, too blissed out of his mind to do anything but go along as he’s arranged onto his knees and elbows and fucked without preamble. 

Peter Lukas is a big man and least to say proportional, and even with Jon prepped and fucked already it is a _stretch_ that makes him gasp as Peter slides in. 

“Oh,” Peter moans into his ear, burying himself to the hilt as Jon clutches onto the sheets and scrambles to hold on. “You were worth the wait, Archivist.”

He fucks very differently from Elias, from anyone Jon’s been with before. Peter is strong and heavy, pinning Jon down with the bulk of his weight as he lazily thrusts into him. Jon can’t hold back a pathetic little noise at the sensation, his already so sensitive flesh struggling around Peter’s strokes. 

A large hand lands on Jon’s upper back and pushes down, and Jon’s arms make a noble effort before they shake and he collapses face down into the mattress, moans muffled by the sheets. There’s a pressure building in his gut, and it dawns on Jon suddenly that he’s going to come again even without his cock being touched.

Peter must realize it as well, because he grabs Jon by the hair and gently turns his head so that his every whimper is heard and he says,

“Are you going to come _again_ , Sims?”

“No– no I’m not,” Jon whines high in his throat, groaning and seizing up as Peter thrusts hard. He feels him so deep inside that it almost hurts.

“Oh, don’t be rude,” Peter chuckles breathily. “Especially after I’ve been so nice and made you come once already. Shouldn’t he be thanking me, Elias?”

From somewhere in the room a voice comes dry as tinder, “Since when do you care for my opinion?”

Peter clicks his tongue and picks up the pace, slots his body over Jon’s so that his weight is pressing him into the mattress and every thrust is so deep Jon feels it in his teeth. 

“Go on,” he murmurs and Jon can almost hear him grin, “thank me, Archivist.”

Jon _does_ – he cries and babbles out _thankyoupeterthankyouthankyou_ over and over as he clenches down on Peter’s cock and comes so hard it hurts. Peter grunts in his ear and for a brief moment he pistons his hips terribly hard in and out, grabbing tight onto Jon’s waist as he comes as well; deeply at first, pulling out to fuck in alongside his seed so that Jon feels every drop inside him. 

Peter stays inside him as he catches his breath, and Jon _feels_ his cock begin to soften while still inside. He can’t bring himself to care about how filthy it is – Jon’s vision is still completely white and his heart is racing so hard he feels it in his throat.

Faintly Jon thinks of how good he’s going to sleep tonight, and he startles as he realizes something.

“I didn’t bring spare clothes,” he croaks out into the bedroom, still squeezed between Peter Lukas and the mattress. He feels Peter shiver above him with a silent scoff.

A hint of genuine amusement or affection plays at the corner of Elias' mouth. “I was thinking that you’d spend the night.”

“What about work?”

“It’s Friday, Jon.”

“Workaholics,” Peter mumbles above him and finally begins to move, kissing his shoulder-blade as he rolls off of him. “Whole lot.”

“Right,” Jon whispers, rubbing his legs together as he feels a mixture of his own wetness and Peter’s come drip out of him. And then, because he doesn’t know what else to say, he tentatively adds, “Thank you.”

He isn’t sure for what – Jon can physically feel the cogs in his head begin to turn as he slowly comes back to some level of coherency.

In response, Elias takes his jaw in his hand and kisses Jon softly, on the brow above his eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an absolute behemoth. I tried multiple times to split it into two but it was impossible. Never writing threesomes again, so many people that you need to get off.
> 
>   * Peter has a breeding kink but he will never admit it post-coitus.
>   * Elias is a good dom but mostly with people who can wring his neck like a chicken. Jon isn’t spicy enough.
>   * Jon's sexuality to me is that he most of the time is very uninterested but the few times he _is_ interested he doesn't have particularly good experiences. Sex is complicated and sometimes he doesn't understand, and if there's anything I personally have learnt during this podcast it's that this man LOATHES not understanding something.
> Thanks for reading my mess :>



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